Limits: Hatred
by Sandshrew777
Summary: Starfire sees hatred within the jocular Cyborg. The fourth installment in my Limits series of one-shots, wherein we see the hidden depths of our favorite five. No previous experience of the series necessary.


**Author's Note: Welcome to the fourth installment of my "Limits" series, where we uncover things about our favorite five that they would rather not tell anybody. Continuing my recent theme of somebody else narrating the story, Starfire gives us a short, but in-depth look into the character of Cyborg.**

**Disclaimer: The Teen Titans are not mine, and probably never will be unless something monumental occurs and they fall into my hands by accident.

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I was just on my way to the kitchen to retrieve the most glorious tub of the mustard, having recently finished the last tub that I had stored in my bedroom when I heard him.

Never before in my life have I heard singing that was as delightful as this. It reminded me very much of the Glorb'th'ln of my homeland. I always wished that I had been born deaf to the tone so that I might sing with them as well, but their admission standards are very strict. Still, they are most delightful, and the voice sounded so very similar. It was like the scraping of metal against asphalt, like when a car Friend Raven throws at an enemy misses and skids along the street below us.

The tub of mustard forgotten, I craned my neck to try and discern from where this voice originated.

This voice was male, so I knew immediately that it was not Friend Raven who was making this most joyful noise. Briefly, I thought about requesting her assistance in locating the beautiful voice, but decided against it. Friend Raven did not like to be disturbed during this time of day, when she partook in her meditations. She once instructed me on how to do them, when we accidentally exchanged our powers. Although I found it difficult at first to not think of anything, I found the process extremely relaxing once I managed to successfully complete it.

Perhaps I shall do it again sometime, I thought, as I arrived at an intersection of the Tower's paths. I listened for the voice again, which was strengthening in volume. It seemed the strongest from the left path, so I floated down that hallway, having been propelled into the air by the sheer joy of hearing such a brilliant sound fill the air.

As I floated, listening, I wondered who the voice belonged to, once again. It seemed too deep to be Friend Beast Boy, and I had heard his singing. It was, as Friend Raven put it, like "nails scratching across a blackboard." I am not sure what a blackboard is, still, although judging by her tone and the way everybody else reacted to the image, it must not have been a pleasant comparison. Still, the joy in Friend Beast Boy's voice when he sings is...what is the word? Captivating! Yes, captivating; and so I love it when he sings.

That left me with Friend Robin and Friend Cyborg.

The song was very slow, and almost as light as a feather. It did not seem like the kind of music that either of them would enjoy.

Friend Robin often partakes in the working of out with very loud music that thumps like Friend Cyborg's instruments do on the T-Car. I aided him in the repairs of the T-Car, once, and the sound the hammer made was most unpleasant. It was as if he were applying the hammer to my very skull! Most unpleasant indeed.

Merrily confused, I followed the hallway until I realized where I was going: the garage, Friend Cyborg's domain. So it was Friend Cyborg who was making this most joyous noise! I sped up, eager to join with him in the singing of the song, if he would be so kind as to teach me it. I always love to learn new things!

My joy was soon dispelled, however, when I arrived at the door to the garage. Through the window, I could see Friend Cyborg. Although he was singing most delightfully, he did not appear to be very happy, not at all. I could almost feel the sadness radiating off of him, like the glowing energy of the sun in the sky.

I felt my feet reconnect with the floor as I watched, my hand still on the handle of the door.

He stood in front of a mirror, seeming to almost spit the words of the song in hatred at the image of himself. He was not moving, except for his face, which twisted with the words of the song. None of them were happy faces.

With one last screeching note, the song ended. Friend Cyborg stared at the mirror for a few moments.

Then he punched the mirror with all of his strength. I flinched as the glass broke, but even moreso because Friend Cyborg was not allowing himself to break. He turned from the broken mirror and moved towards the T-Car, picking up one of his tools. He furiously began to work, the emotion he had contorted into his face working into his hands as he tightened and loosened, monitored and tested, fixed and intentionally broke to make better.

After I few minutes, I felt as if I was violating the space of bubbles, so I removed my hand from the door handle and walked away, deciding to return to the kitchen for my mustard.

As I walked, the image of Friend Cyborg stayed foremost within my mind. The words were so hopeful, to me, but it did not seem that Friend Cyborg saw it that way. It was almost as if he was cursing some part of himself for causing him so much pain. The last words seemed especially hurtful to that part of himself, like Friend Cyborg thought it was some sort of...parasite. Yes, that was the word.

I did not understand why Friend Cyborg thought this way. It did not seem to me that Friend Cyborg was wounded so grievously. He was always smiling, laughing, playing the games of the video with Friend Beast Boy...how could that person be the same one who had just destroyed an image of himself in the mirror?

As I was pondering these things in my mind, I found that my feet had taken me to the kitchen, as I had loosely decided upon going to when I left Friend Cyborg's domain. I opened the refrigerator, pulled out my yellow treasure, shut it, and had a sudden thought.

The next time something joyful occurred and I found it necessary to give Friend Cyborg a hug, it was going to be much, much longer than usual. He needed it.

Satisfied with my solution, I stuck a straw in my mustard and slurped it happily on the way back to my room. A hug would fix everything!

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**Author's Note: Like what you've read? Review!**


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